


No Still Water

by AtomicPen



Series: So Show Me Family, All the Blood That I Would Bleed [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Casual Relationship, Casual Sex, F/M, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:11:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His life was like a river--always on the move, never lingering. It cut a winding path all his days, and sometimes people drowned in it, but sometimes people swam. He could no more control it than water; all he did to try and stem its flow slipped through his fingers just as easily as any stream.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Even as he lost one family, one piece at a time, he gained a new one. But he always knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that things would never remain the same, and they would not be around forever.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No river have ever stood still, and his life was no different.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Envy

After, all he could do was watch her as she slid out of his bed and stretched before casting about for her clothing. Both hers and his came off rather quickly and haphazardly a few hours ago, though she certainly had less raiment than he to gather. She was completely unconcerned as she strode about, naked as her name day (and probably many other days just like this one since), a soft melody humming from her throat as she looked that reminded him of boats rocking on the waves.

A smile, small and only half-formed, curled up one side of his mouth. “I envy you," he told her.

Her humming broke off into a throaty chuckle. “I imagine many people feel the same, sweet thing," she replied, turning to face him. Her dark skin shone like bronze in the dying light of the room. “Dare I ask why, exactly, you envy me? Is it my cunning wit? Or are you just a fan of my many attributes?" A grin splayed across her mouth, making him think of the way she had splayed for him earlier.

His smile never outwardly faltered—by now he was more than adept at keeping face and appearances. What better skill for the apostate son of an apostate to have than deception? It never felt right to him, though, no matter how many times he had done it. But he knew better than most that to reveal one's true feelings was to invite problems and hurt, and in his case more than likely, danger.

"Well, you certainly don’t lack in attributes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a fan." That made her grin widen.

"And I know how much you abhor lying," she replied.

Oh, he hated this game. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He was a fan—he hadn’t come across anyone who wasn’t a fan of Isabela and her many qualities and skills. But that wasn’t what he envied. And she would never know the truth, nor anyone else. He was the eldest, always, and now he was the one in charge. Years ago, it had been his father keeping everyone together and alive, with Aeron helping. Then, he had fallen to a sickness—a corruption of the lungs. Though, it would have never mattered what it was or wasn’t, because it had been well out of both his and Bethany’s meagre healing skills. In the end, they had only been able to make him comfortable—ease the pain, make his breathing easier until his lungs had rattled the final time. Ever since then, Aeron took on the mantle his father had always worn, and all the burdens fell upon him. He thanked his bloodlines that his shoulders had grown wide enough for them all.

No, what he envied of Isabel was her confidence and her selfishness—even though she wasn’t entirely as selfish as she’d like to pretend, it was still more than he could afford. She could be whomever she wanted to be, and could be with whomever she wanted to be with without sacrificing who she was. And she always knew who she was. He supposed he couldn’t begrudge her that; he was well aware of what he was, as well. An apostate. A Hawke, and now his mother wanted him to be an Amell, too. He was the one that kept everyone together and he kept them safe. Or, well, he tried to. He didn’t always succeed—as with Father, as with Bethany, as with Carver. When Isabela saw something she wanted, she went for it, and didn’t let anything stand in her way. Half the time he wouldn’t know how to answer the question, ‘What do you want?’ if someone asked it of him. All he knew was _Keep my family alive. Keep them safe_. Now it extended to these people he had somehow acquired in Kirkwall. Now it extended to the citizens of Kirkwall itself, against his better judgement. He just didn’t know how to do anything else.

Isabela abandoned her search for her clothing, and approached his bed again, hips sashaying as she moved. Like water in flesh form, he thought, eyes trained on her.

"Hm. Well, maybe if you’re such an avid admirer, you should tell me again just what precisely you like best…"

He chuckled, the sound coming easily even if it wasn’t entirely true to his feelings.

"Well, I've never been one for talk. Come here, then, and let me show you instead," he told her, holding out a hand covered in callouses—not only from working with roughly hewn staves over the years, but from manual labour as well. Apostate he might be, but he grew up poor, and knew well the feel of honest, hard work. She took it, her own hands neither soft nor supple from ropes, wood, daggers--all the tools of her trade.

They were nothing more than friends to one another—he was not her salvation he knew, and she was not his—but at least he could lose himself for a little while in her company without fear of rejection.


	2. Difficult Lessons

Sebastian winced as his foot came underneath a boot for the sixth time. Perhaps the seventh. He bit his tongue, however, and nodded, pushing a smile out from somewhere. Patience, he reminded himself.

“That was… better,” he said, trying to sound more hopeful than he felt at the moment. “Let’s try again.”

His dance partner frowned and didn’t move. “Are you certain this is the best way?” Aeron asked. “Perhaps Isabela, or Aveline–maybe even Merrill would be better for me to learn how to lead? In fact, are you sure any of this is necessary at all? I’ve gotten along just fine in my life for years without knowing how to dance.” He raked nervous fingers through his dark hair.

“It is something the Champion of Kirkwall should know, yes, and I am really the only one who knows enough to teach you. What do you think should happen when a noble of great import comes up to you at a symposium and asks to dance?” It would be a lie to say Sebastian wasn’t grateful for the minor break in getting his toes stepped on.

Aeron wiggled his fingers a bit. “Say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks and here’s a fancy trick with the wine instead’?”

A soft snort that sounded somewhat akin to a chuckle escaped him. “No, Hawke, I’m afraid not. What should happen is that you politely accept and then subtly win them over through graceful words and steps, both. You’re going to have to learn how to dance–at least one, I think that’s all we can really hope for. Not only is it expected of you, with your title and estate, but like it or not, those things mean you are part of this world, now.”

“Maker, is this really what court is like?” He looked so exhausted by the mere thought of it.

That did bring a laugh from Sebastian. “Aye, and possibly the least of it. There are so many nuances that takes much longer than we have to learn, let alone master. But I’ll be happy when you’ve got one dance in your repertoire.” He shook his head. “Don’t look so dour. It’s actually a little fun once you get the hang of it. The dancing part, that is.”

“Do you really think I’ll get the hang of it in time for the first one of these… things?” Aeron made a frustrated motion with a hand, stepping closer and lifting his hands to take the lead.

Hesitating for just a breath to consider an idea–and only partially for his toes–Sebastian shook his head. “Let’s switch around,” he instructed. “Instead of only going off what I say you should be doing, I will take the lead so you can feel how it should be done properly. I think, perhaps, that might help.”

Aeron nodded, biting his lip in concentration as he allowed Sebastian to re-position their hands. A line of worry drew across his forehead, and he kept his eyes glued to the floor–probably feeling bad for stepping on Sebastian’s feet so much.

Resting his right hand near the small of Aeron’s back–much higher than the ones all his previous dance partners possessed, as none had ever been of a height with him–he said, “Relax. Look up at me; don’t worry about your feet so much this time. These boots have seen worse than poor dancers.” He chuckled and got a short, jittery laugh from Aeron in return. For all that he tried to make light of it, Sebastian knew Aeron understood it would help him in the long run, as Champion of Kirkwall, to rub elbows with more of the nobility here in Kirkwall. Especially as a mage, with all the tensions running taught through the city on all levels.

“Ready?” Aeron nodded, silent.

Smooth and fluid, with practiced grace, Sebastian guided Aeron around the Amell receiving room to a slow and steady tune in his head. An elegant, sweeping circle marked his path, and he lead firmly, not letting Aeron’s unsure feet trip either of them up. He exaggerated the press and pull of his hands, with the hope that Aeron would note them more plainly to mimic when he was leading, and for the first time that evening, Sebastian’s toes did not get stepped on. When they made a complete revolution around the room, Sebastian brought them to a slow halt almost precisely where they had started.

Releasing his hands, Aeron even had the ghost of a smile on his mouth in appreciation. “You sure you’re not open to…?”

Sebastian laughed. “No, Hawke, but I am still flattered, nonetheless.”

“In that case, how about soothing my hurt feelings and going in my place to these impending banquets? You’d sweep _everyone_ off their feet.”

“I think they might notice I wasn’t you.”

Letting out a sigh, Aeron nodded. “Right. Wrong hair color.”

“Did you get a better sense of what you should do, as the one leading?” Sebastian asked, moving gently back to the matter at hand.

“I did,” Aeron replied, then cocked his head and gave Sebastian a sly sort of look, green eyes sharp and merry in the way only Hawke’s could be. “And the way you work also makes a bit more sense now, too.”

That startled him. “The way I work?” Sebastian echoed.

“Don’t fret over it,” Aeron said, instead, evading as usual. “Shall we go again, and I can see if I picked anything up?” Without waiting for an answer, he lifted Sebastian’s hand in his own and pressed the other to the small of the back, very nearly just as Sebastian had done. Letting out a small sigh, Sebastian could tell when it was useless to try and get a straight answer from the mage, and now would be one of those times if he pressed the issue. 

It wasn’t anywhere close to as smooth as when Sebastian lead, but he had to admit, Aeron was a good deal better than all his previous attempts before.

“Good,” he said at the end of Aeron’s circle, and meant it. “I think you might not be a lost cause, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sebastian Vael Appreciation Week (original found [here](http://atomicpen.tumblr.com/post/116087739029/sebastian-and-one-of-your-hawkes-dancing) on tumblr)


End file.
